At Your Service
by Silverneko9lives0
Summary: For HKM: Dwalin is sold at a slave auction to Ori, who actually smuggles slaves back to their homes. Thirty years later, Ori is being sold in Erebor and Dwalin buys him. Full prompt inside. Warnings: mentions of rape, slave-abuse, slavery, and rape recovery. Some smut.


_**At Your Service**_

"_Erebor is at war with Ered Mithrin (the Grey Mountains to the North). While Dwalin is traveling, his group is ambushed, and he ends up at a slave auction in the enemy's kingdom. He doesn't last much in that situation though, as a young and beautiful Dwarf buys him among other slaves, heals them and then takes them to a place from where they can return to their homes without being trapped again. Dwalin remembers him when, years after, Erebor has won the war, he finds that same Dwarf who saved him as a slave in Erebor. And Dwalin isn't about to let a noble Dwarf like that end up in a whorehouse."_

_Dwalin/Ori_

_Warnings: Mentions of rape/non-con, rape recovery, mentions of slave-abuse, suggestions?_

* * *

No matter how much he struggles against his bonds, he can't break free. He tried. Of course he tried. He's supposed to be the strongest of the caravan headed to the Iron Hills, appointed by the King himself, to go to Ered Engrin and back to Erebor, protecting his caravan from Ered Mithrin's army.

He really should have suspected they'd be outnumbered and overwhelmed. Some guard he made himself to be.

He's forced onto a stage and to his knees. He tries again to break the many bonds holding him down, growling and snarling. He glares at every shouting, bidding Dwarf in the crowd.

Despite the courageous front he puts on, Dwalin is terrified.

Slaves are never treated well. Those strong enough usually are killed in the pit and forced to kill in order to survive. If you're beautiful, you'll usually be bought only to be sold again into a whorehouse. If you were neither, you may get lucky and have a good master.

Rape, abuse, and murder were often the tale of a slave. Even in Erebor, for all its justice.

He'd kill whoever buys him first before being subjected to any of that. He is a friend and cousin to the King of Erebor, an almost direct descendant of Durin the Deathless. He barely makes this decision when he's forced to his feet and led off the platform, still bound.

He's grouped together with several other slaves, all in various states of weakness and abuse, mostly starved and dehydrated like himself. Slave traders were never kind enough to feed their merchandise more than once a day to keep them weak and unable to run, but still alive. The fatigue came from the long trek to the market, bound save for their feet and the ropes tied to a cart. The smaller ones, such as women and children, would be in cages.

There are primarily women and children among the group Dwalin had been added to. Some men, such as himself, but not many. Another hour passed before they were moved, filing out of the door to a cart where they were crowded inside.

Dwalin looked around. The cart is open aired and warm. His vision swam from his fatigue, but he forces himself to stay awake and alert, taking in his surroundings for a chance to escape.

No lucky chance comes. He is led out of the cart with the others and they are filed in a courtyard. When their driver leaves and the gate closes with a bang, the doors to the mansion open. Several Dwarves exit, all smiles and kind faces.

Suspicion crawled up Dwalin's spine.

His bonds, left on through the whole trip for fear he'd escape (and he probably would have if given half the chance), are cut. A constriction he did not realize he felt lessened and he felt he could breathe freely for the first time in weeks.

"Come, there is food and water waiting for you," a servant said, leading them into the mansion.

The stone mansion, lit by torches, held a kind of warmth to it and any fear, any tension, any suspicion felt it could melt away. For some, especially the children, it did.

Not for Dwalin. It only made him more suspicious.

What if the food or water is poisoned? What if they had been sold to a madman cannibal?

There were too many negative possibilities and Dwalin wasn't about to fall prey to any of them.

He watched his companions eat without regard to their safety. One by one, they left "to take baths and be given rooms." Dwalin leaned back in his seat, ignoring his stomach for as long as he may. He waited for the screams which never came, chipping away at his resolve not to eat without knowing exactly where he was, who his master was, and what their motive was.

The door opened again.

"Why do you not eat?"

He turned around to the Dwarf, mouth parting slightly.

His auburn hair was short, coming down just below his ears, wearing a single braid to mark him as a noble. Another marked him a scholar. Hazel eyes stared at him unblinking, mouth set in a small frown. He was dressed casually: brown trousers and a white shirt with brown boots adorning his feet.

Dwalin pressed his lips together again, fixing the Dwarf with a hard stare.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"What have you done with the others?"

"Most of them have already gone to sleep. The food is cold by now and you have not touched even a bit of it! You must be starving," he smiled. "I suppose you do not trust me. I take it you are a warrior or a soldier. A professional would never trust the gifts of a stranger. I've dealt with Dwarves like you before." He sat down. "My name is Ori, son of Vori, at your service."

"You expect me to give you my name?"

"Far from it. Warriors tend to take a little longer to gain trust from."

"Why would a master want his slaves' trust? Most would rather have their fear."

"Because I have no reason or need to have slaves. Besides, I have a brother in Erebor. He does the same for captured Dwarves of Ered Mithrin that I do for the Dwarves of Erebor: we buy slaves, nurse them back to health, and smuggle them back to their homes."

"That's treason to both our kings."

Ori snorted. "This war is wrong and you know it. And yes, I suppose what I and my brother are doing is treason, but do you really want to live the rest of your life in slavery or do you want to go home to your own family?"

Dwalin sighed, ignoring the pang in his stomach. "I want to go home. We all do."

"And I am trying to help." Ori tilted his head to the side. "If you like, come to the kitchens and the cook will make you something to eat in front of you. That way, you know whether the food is poisoned or not, though I promise you, it isn't."

Dwalin will probably blame the hunger later, but this option seemed good enough for him at the time. He followed Ori to the kitchen, where the chef still stayed. He appraised Dwalin. "Didn't eat?" he asked Ori.

"He's a warrior."

"Ah," the chef said. He turned to Dwalin. "Is there anything you would like to eat?"

What he'd like? There were lots of things he'd like to eat right now. Most of it already was laid before him in the dining room, but his suspicion had stayed his hand. "Steak," Dwalin said, "With onions and potatoes."

He watched the preparation, arms crossed and watching every move the chef made from tenderizing the meat to slicing the onions. Dwalin normally didn't like vegetables, but buttered onions and warm, salted and peppered potatoes with seasoned steak…

Yeah. That sounded good after weeks of traveling, surviving only on stale bread and warm water.

#

The next six days curbed Dwalin's suspicions toward Ori and his household. Building their strength, readying packs for the journey home…the children were laughing again and the women smiling. The men, such as Dwalin, learned the route they'd be taking.

From what Dwalin understood, most of the men were bought for the sake of being guards and protectors to the women and children through the long journey home.

"I don't expect you to be attacked. There has never been a problem before, but it's best to be ready for an attack just in case," Ori explained the first morning.

Dwalin wasn't sure he'd go so far as to trust Ori completely, but he did trust the Dwarf enough to know he knew what he was doing.

On the seventh day, Ori led them under his house. Dwalin's suspicions returned tenfold that day.

"Nori?" Ori called, "We're here."

A Dwarf opened a door. "This all of them?"

"All that I could get," Ori said.

"All right," Nori said, looking at them. "Let's go while there's still daylight." They filed after Nori. Dwalin waited until he and Ori were left.

"You should go."

"What about you?"

"No one notices. No one questions. I think they think I'm a hard taskmaster or something. And no one comes into my house. My family and I are very good at what we do. Go. You're family's probably worried about you."

Dwalin stayed a minute longer before following the others through the tunnel.

~Thirty Years Later~

The slave traders had been pouring in and out of Erebor since the war ended a month ago, selling their prisoners—Men, women, and children beaten, bruised, and bloody to be sold to the highest bidders.

Dwalin disliked it. Having been on a platform like the one at the market where the slave auctions was not a memory he liked to think on and yet it rose every time he passed this way to the barracks. He turned his head toward it once and paused.

He pushed his way through the crowd.

"Ten thousand!" he shouted above the throng. "Ten thousand gold!"

The crowd stared at him. They rightly should. He never dared to join them before and _now_ he did? Not only that, _no_ one had the money to match. No one bet that much on a slave. For many of the Dwarves here, ten thousand gold coins were out of their pocket, though not for Dwalin.

Ori was roughly brought to his feet and dragged off the stage. Dwalin went around to pick him up.

"Most wait until after the auction," a trader said.

"I'm not staying," Dwalin growled, pushing past him. Ori lay on the ground, legs purple and black, his head bowed, and wrists bound behind his back. Dwalin seized the trader, pinning him to the wall. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything! I didn't catch him! Look," he pointed at Ori. "That's a common tactic. Any trader could have broken his legs. It's done to the healthiest to keep them from running—especially if they try to escape. He tried to escape his trader. Simple as that. His legs will heal. Until then, I suggest using him to warm your bed."

Dwalin grit his teeth, shoving the Dwarf roughly before approaching Ori, who shied away, shoulders hunched and whimpering. He cut the ropes binding Ori and lifted him into his arms as carefully as he could. "It'd be easier carrying you if your arms are around my neck."

Ori obeyed, locking his hands together around Dwalin's thick neck. His entire body quivered. Dwalin didn't know if he was just cold or afraid. He shifted his direction from the barracks to the palace infirmary.

"Oin?" he called. "Oin?!" Dwalin swore. The door opened and Gloin stepped out. "Where's Oin?"

"He's out—who's that?"

Dwalin glanced at Ori in his arms. "A very old friend," he said.

"He looks like a slave, Dwalin."

Dwalin narrowed his eyes. "Just fix his legs. I'll explain later."

Gloin sighed. "Set him on the bed," he ordered, guiding Dwalin to a cot to lay Ori down. Ori hid his face in the pillow. Gloin led him aside. "You never buy slaves. Why now?"

Dwalin glanced at Ori. "You know when I headed to the Iron Hills about thirty years ago, but the caravan I was with never made it there, and yet I alone managed to come back weeks later?"

Gloin nodded.

"We were ambushed by Ered Mithrin's army and taken to the market there. I was sold as a slave. He bought me."

"So you escaped and now thirty years later you buy your old master? What is this? Revenge?"

"No. No, Gloin, he helped me and others escape. He's a smuggler. Him and his brother…I want to get him back to his brother if we can find him, but he needs to heal first."

"It'll take a while," Gloin promised, "But in a few weeks, he should be able to use his legs again, though the trauma of what that lad went through…"

Dwalin nodded. "I'll be back soon."

He left the infirmary, leaning against the door, hiding his face in a hand. Dwalin didn't know what to do. He didn't know where to even begin looking for Ori's brother.

He left to buy something more suitable for Ori, deep in thought. He dreaded to think what would have happened to Ori had he not come. Ori is a beautiful Dwarf. It's not hard to notice. And most of the auctioneers run whorehouses in the lower halls of Erebor's poorest neighborhoods.

The idea of Ori working in such a place curdled Dwalin's blood which rushed to his head. Dwalin stumbled over a step while attempting to calm down. He needed to calm down. He got to Ori before that could happen. He was safe now.

He returned to the infirmary with a package of clothes, stopped by Gloin. "What?"

"It's going to take longer than a few weeks for him to heal, Dwalin."

"Why?" Gloin swallowed. "Gloin, what is it?"

"Oin came back and did a full exam on him. The lad was raped; most likely by his trader. It would explain why his legs are broken: he fought back. He fought like a demon, and paid the price for it. Physically, he'll be fine in a matter of weeks, but he has been damaged emotionally, Dwalin. He's probably not the same Dwarf you knew anymore. It's a ten week journey from the Grey Mountains to Erebor—"

"That doesn't matter. No one is going to hurt him again if I can help it. For now, let's focus on his physical healing and I'm going to look for his brother."

He walked in. Ori lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with an arm under his head and the other resting on his abdomen. Hs legs were casted in plaster.

Dwalin approached, circling the bed and sitting down. "Ori?"

Ori turned his head to face him. Whatever his trader had done to him, Gloin had been right. There used to be a sort of life in his eyes, at least there was when he knew Ori. Not that it meant much. It was thirty years ago and they had only known each other for a week.

"I'm going to find your brother," Dwalin promised. "Get you to him, all right? Can you give me his name?"

"You can't reunite us," Ori said. He winced, sitting up. "My brother, Dori, is dead. He was caught smuggling slaves out of Erebor and arrested for treason ten years ago. His beard was shorn and then he was executed. And my other brother—Nori, our go-between guy—he was killed by Mithrin soldiers doing the same. Slaughtered along with dozens of slaves I had just sent off to go home and that was three months ago. Two weeks later, the war's over and my house is overrun by Erebor's army and I'm being sold to a trader."

Dwalin ran a hand over his head then crossed his arms. "There must be something I can do to help you."

"Why do you bother? You barely know me."

"But I owe you my life and many people still living in Erebor owe you're their lives too. This," he glanced at the splinted legs, "Never should have happened to you."

Ori scoffs. "Well, that's the problem, is it? Bad things tend to happen to good people." Dwalin stood and grasped his shoulders. Ori's hands seized his wrists, fear coursing through the smaller's body.

"I won't hurt you," Dwalin promised. "I would never hurt you. You have my word." He eased Ori back down onto the bed. "Focus on getting better for now. I brought you clothes and food comes in regularly here. Is there anything else you would like?"

Ori swallowed. "A book would be nice. An epic, preferably."

"Okay. I'll be back soon."

#

A week turned into a month. A month became two before the casts were removed and Ori could learn to use the sore muscles in his legs again.

Dwalin visited the infirmary as often as he could find the time to spare, always bringing a new book for Ori to read. Epics in Khuzdul soon ran out and he took to finding different epics, translated into Westron. Sometimes, he'd talk to Ori, hoping the Dwarf would open up to him.

And sometimes, Ori would open up to him. He'd smile and laugh and they'd talk. Most days, Ori seemed unable to dig himself out of the pit he had been shoved into.

At the end of the fourth month, when Ori could walk with a cane to aid him, he moved into Dwalin's house, given a room of his own.

The transition, it seemed to Dwalin, seemed to do Ori good. He was smiling more than before and soon gave up the cane…

Dwalin stayed up late one night early in the fifth month, working, when he heard the cries. He stood, heading to investigate the noise. He paused outside Ori's room and knocked. "Ori?" Met with no answer, he knocked again. "Ori, I'm coming inside." He opened the door and stepped inside. "Ori?" He reached out to shake him. Ori gasped and seized Dwalin's arm.

"Don't touch me!" Ori shouted, eyes fierce and angry.

Dwalin pulled away, wrenching his hand away from Ori's grasp. "Sorry. I heard…are you crying?"

"Sometimes I dream about the soldiers. The one's who captured me. Sometimes the traders. It's as though they've…dug a hole inside me and I can't do anything to fill it."

Dwalin didn't want to leave, but he didn't know if he should stay. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, as though waiting on some sort of order he didn't know would ever come.

"Could you…hold me for a little while?" Ori asked.

Dwalin furrowed his brow. "Are you sure?"

"I'm asking, so yes. I'm sure." Ori scooted over to give Dwalin room. "Please?"

Dwalin lay down on the bed, letting Ori dictate the movements of what would come next. Ori wrapped his arms around Dwalin's waist, the top of his head brushing under Dwalin's chin. His breath tickled Dwalin's skin as he slowly drifted back to sleep…

Dwalin woke slowly, one of his arms asleep due to being used as a pillow by Ori, so deeply rooted in his sleep, Dwalin was almost afraid to move. Instead, he closed his eyes, steadily becoming alert to various things.

Like a press of lips against his mouth.

Dwalin's eyes snapped open. Ori pulled away quickly.

"Sorry," Ori said, cheeks flushed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Why did you kiss me?"

Ori pursed his lips. "Do you not know?" Dwalin stared at him. "I didn't dare to hope because I doubted we'd meet again, and then all this happened and…here I am with our roles reversed."

"You're not a slave, Ori."

"You still bought me from a slave auction."

"And you bought me," Dwalin reminded him.

For time immeasurable, Ori stared at Dwalin before he dared lean in again to steal another kiss. Dwalin kissed him back, carefully gripping the back of Ori's neck. Ori paused, shaking. Dwalin lowered his hand to Ori's shoulder where it rested rather than gripped, giving Ori control.

Ori pushed Dwalin on to his back, sliding a hand under Dwalin's tunic, fingers mapping the thick muscles beneath them and running through the pelt of hair, stopping above Dwalin's heart, fingers curling and nails gently scratching. Ori pulled away, sliding his hand back down to rest just under Dwalin's ribcage.

"You don't have to do this, Ori."

"I want to. I just…I know I'm nowhere close to recovering from that ordeal, but I want to try purging it if I can. With you."

Dwalin swallowed. Could such memories be purged? He doubted it, but he wouldn't deny his attraction to Ori. Nor would he deny wanting to bed him.

"Tell me if it gets too much."

Ori nodded. Dwalin captured his lips again, darting his tongue across Ori's teeth. Ori opened his mouth, tongue dancing with Dwalin's. He swung a leg around Dwalin's waist, pressed against him. Dwalin curled his fingers under Ori's tunic, pulling it up. The kiss broke long enough for the garment to pull over Ori's head and drop to the floor.

Dwalin pressed his hand gently to Ori's back, rubbing circles into the skin. Ori pushed at Dwalin's shirt, Dwalin sat up to divest it before pulling Ori back into his arms, rolling them over. Ori stiffened.

"All right."

"Yes…just…give me a moment."

"If you want to be on top…"

"No, this is fine. They…forced me on my hands and knees, even after they broke my legs."

Dwalin fought down his fury. It would do him no good. Not now. He would have to be content that Ori was safe now.

Ori inhaled and reached for Dwalin's breeches with shaking fingers. Dwalin kissed him, untying the latter's breeches with surer hands, pulling them off. He broke the kiss.

"How do you want this to go? Do you want me—do you want to be inside me or the other way around?"

"Other way."

Dwalin itched to ask Ori if he was sure again, but figured if Ori really didn't like it, he would let Dwalin know. "All right," he said instead.

He kissed Ori's neck, feeling the lad's pulse throb beneath his lips. He moved down to the collarbone and down Ori's chest, pausing to tease the twin nubs with his tongue before continuing his trail to pause again at his navel.

He looked up at Ori, who was flushed. His eyes dark, following Dwalin's movements. Dwalin smirked to himself. He moved further down to lick a stripe over Ori's rigid length. Ori gasped, throwing his head back against the pillow. Dwalin lathes the head with his tongue before swallowing it down. Blunt nails scratch his bald head and Ori moans Dwalin's name. Dwalin bobbed his head, pinning Ori down when instinct screamed at the younger to _move_.

Dwalin released Ori, remembering something rather important. He wanted this to be as comfortable as he could make it for Ori and there was no way to do so without something to ease the way. He kissed Ori reassuringly and went to the joining bathroom to grab oil.

He climbed on Ori again, bottle in hand.

"If it gets unbearable—"

"I'll tell you," Ori promised, spreading his legs. Dwalin doused his fingers in cool oil, dipping his hand between Ori's legs, rubbing a finger over the opening. Ori closed his eyes and bit his lip. Dwalin paused.

"Ori?"

He opened his eyes, releasing his lip. Ori wrapped his arms around Dwalin's neck, pulling him down for another kiss. "I'm all right. Really."

Dwalin kissed his neck, pushing his finger inside to the first knuckle. Ori's back arched and he whimpered. When his whimpers subsided, Dwalin pushed in further, pumping his finger in and out, twisting his wrist.

He bit his tongue to keep from rambling his intentions as he tended to do during intercourse. That could be saved for when Ori was more comfortable with him. For now, he wanted to show him he could be trusted. That it was okay for Ori to come to him and expect to be treated the way he should every waking and sleeping moment.

He eased his second finger within, waiting for Ori to adjust again before stretching him further and thrusting them in him. "By Mahal, you're beautiful," he whispered to Ori, adding a third digit. He dare not say more than that, biting his tongue again.

Dwalin pulled his fingers out and untangled Ori's limbs from his neck. Ori grabbed the headboard, fingers tight around the bars, watching Dwalin coat his cock in oil. Dwalin lifted Ori's legs to shift his position and push into Ori, getting the head in. Ori gasped, eyes closed. Dwalin wasn't sure if the tears leaking out were from Ori taking his girth or panic.

"Ori?"

"More," he moaned. "Please, Dwalin, _more._"

The last of his restraint snapped. Dwalin shoved into Ori, fingers digging into his hips. Ori released the headboard, head thrown back, back arched, and legs locked around Dwalin's waist, Dwalin's name passing his lips.

Dwalin grasped Ori's aching, leaking cock. He slid his hand up, flicking his thumb over the slit before sliding back down. He growled, crashing his lips to Ori's, jamming his tongue down his throat, thrusting faster. Ori clawed Dwalin's back, screaming into his mouth.

Ori's seed seeped over Dwalin's hand. Dwalin broke the kiss, panting against Ori's neck, feeling his orgasm draw close.

His cock pulsed as seed pumped into Ori. Dwalin shook, propped up on his arms. He panted, staring down at Ori.

"Got a little rough. Sorry."

Ori shook his head, pulling him down for another kiss. "I'm fine. More than…more than fine," he said. He bit his lip. "What now?"

Dwalin swallowed. He didn't know how to answer that. "I can't say, but I am at your service, Ori son of Vori, if it pleases you."

Ori stared at Dwalin. "It does…if I may be at your service as well."


End file.
